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The Years That Passed
"Have you heard of the Ghasts, boy?" Ark looked up from where he was sitting in the overcrowded room, not unlike the trains that moved the Jews from Germany to Auschwitz. An old man with sapphire eyes looked at him, and it felt like he was staring into Ark's soul. "No, I'm afraid I haven't," he said carefully. In reality, he had heard of them, mentioned several times in nursery rhymes that were dismissed as myths. "Come closer and I'll tell you." The man was beckoning with his hand. Ark didn't know what to say, but somehow felt his legs pick him off the ground, and walk towards the old man. A bead of rebellous sweat trickled down from his temple. As Ark got closer to the old man, his features...changed. There seemed to be less wrinkles, and his brow was sharper. "How-" he began, but the man raised a hand that held so much authority, he didn't dare say another word. He closed his mouth and began again. "Who are you?" "I am the Magister. And you are Ark, am I correct?" Seeing the look of surprise on the yound man's face, the Magister chuckled. "Don't worry - I know everyone on this ship. Well, almost everyone." He smiled. "You might be wondering why I look so old." "Yes, I am wondering that." The Magister shifted into a better seating position. "It's because I am ''old. What you're seeing right now is a projection of my younger self." Ark scratched his head. "So...why are you here? Why me of all these people?" "You have the most chance of survivng this, that's why. Let me tell you about the Ghasts." Ark looked around, weary that others might eavesdrop on their conversation, but the other people in the room did not seem to care. "They can't hear you," explained the Magister, playing with a die in his hands, "or me, for that matter. Now listen up: which ship did you come in?" "B1145," Ark said instantly. He had been staring at the number long enough to remember it. "What about it?" "Then you didn't see them. Now, what do nursery rhymes say about Ghasts?" ''Them...? "They say that Ghasts come at night to take the souls of those who have sinned. It's just a stupid story." "Well, it's close enough to the truth." Ark frowned. "That's not possible. There's no such thing as a soul." "That's why I said close enough," the Magister sounded irritated now. "They don't take souls. What they want are your organs." "You speak as if they're real." Ark bit his lower lip. "Oh, they're real enough. We'll see soon, too." Well, that was ominous, he thought. Crazy fucker. Just then, there was a deep rumble from one side of the ship. Ark had no idea where in the massive space transport he was holed up in, but he could guess that it was pretty close to the sides, for the tremor was tremendous. Red lights began flashing, and klaxons blared. "All passengers, please remain calm. We are only experiencing a small shower of ice particles from Chiraz's ring," said a female voice over the PA system. And then came the screech. A wild, primal screech that outmatched that of a Bellenian Banshee, and cut through the walls of the room, piercing the ears of everyone on board. Ark brought his hands up to cover his ears, and suddenly found himself holding a pistol. The noise subsided, and the Magister was smiling up at him. "That's their shock and awe tactic. There's probably nothing left of the bridge by now." Ark, flabbergasted, shook his head and aimed the pistol at the door, the red lights playing off the lettering on the side. In a sudden bout of realisation, Ark found that, nothing in the past years of his life had prepared him for this. There was no way he could defend against supernatural monsters, much less one he had never seen before. He was going to die. His years were worthless now. "Then make up for them," said the Magister, apparently reading his mind. He raised his own gun, a powerful-looking assault rifle. "And they're not monsters. Just cannibal space pirates!" As if on cue, the door blew open, and figures could be seen in the dim light on the other side. Ark pulled the trigger.